The Water Devil (36 page)

“I'm glad you'll be happy with him,” I said.

“How could it not be so? A hero of Poitiers, of ancient lineage and high connections, wily with his foes, just in his judgments, a true knight without peer. I could never imagine that the sire of your own gallant husband would be otherwise. They resemble each other perfectly. It is the true blood,” she said, and I dropped my thimble from pure astonishment. If I ever thought there were the slightest resemblance in the world between those two, I'd probably go the way of Hugo's departed lady. How could a woman be so steeped in the lore of chivalry that she could be blind to that man's monumental ghastliness? But then, perhaps that is why I'll never be a real lady, I sighed to myself. A kind of selective sight is one of the chief requirements. Cecily, who was working with the sewing women on the trousseau linens, jumped up and found my thimble settled upside down in a crack in the floor, and fetched it to me. A look of understanding and amazement flashed between us.

“I've decided I like those green shoes after all,” I said, spying what she had hidden beneath her longest gown. “Have you been wearing them every day, while I was in bed and couldn't forbid you?” Cecily smiled a secret smile.

“They're my favorites,” she said.

“Cécile, your stitches are very even and tiny,” said Madame, looking at her work. “I commend you.”

“Merci, almost-grandmother,” she answered, and I could see the pink color rising beneath her freckles.

“Lady Margaret, you are looking so pale. You mustn't overwork for my sake. I beg you, take rest now. You need to renew the blood you have lost, so that your little light will grow back.” I looked at her, amazed, and she smiled that quiet, knowing smile of hers. “My almost-daughter,” she said, “I could not be a woman and not understand what your struggle with that devil in the pond cost you. Every
soul on this manor is grateful that you managed to negotiate an agreement with it.” Madame Agathe really is a true lady, I thought. She sees the pond-thing as a devil. Only the uncouth, the untutored, the wild things see the water woman as she is. Maybe some day even the children won't see her anymore. And me, I must be made wrong, for I sat with her, all finny-wet and slippery, and we made discourse, even if it was only in a dream. Lord, Lord, why didn't you make me a complete and spotless lady, too? Then I would see things all aright, the way they're supposed to be. And while you were doing it, great Lord of the Universe, you could have given me golden hair as well, which would have been ever so much more admirable. But God, who is often so enigmatic, didn't choose to answer this time, either.

NOW FROM THE MOMENT
the banns were cried, there was such a buzz and a stir as was never before seen in the entire shire. Carts and and chapmen with sumpter mules began to arrive, all laden with good things, courtesy of the Burgundians. After them came all the flotsam and jetsam who knew that a wedding meant largesse: minstrels and jugglers and cripples who claimed they were war wounded comrades and soothsayers and wandering friars and pardoners and all the rest of them, and they camped outside the manor gate and infested the courtyard. Then messengers were sent to the grand gentry and to the neighbors to invite them all to the wedding, and those who lived at a distance came with their trains of servants to encamp themselves in all the houses about, including Brokesford itself. Gilbert and Hugo followed their father about, and every time he began to get irritated with the crowds and inconvenience and it looked as if the furniture might fly, they plied him with ale and told him how lordly his hospitality was, until he forgot who he was angry at.

But then something happened that made his malicious spirit beam forth good nature: a nervous messenger arrived from Madame Agathe's cousin, conveying congratulations to the mighty Lord of Brokesford, comrade in arms to the most high and puissant Duke of
Lancaster. And Sir Hubert intimated that Madame's dowry lands might make a very nice little wedding present, and save her ungrateful cousin from the wrath of his many powerful connections, “
INCLUDING
the King's Magistrate, Sir Ralph FitzWilliam,” he bellowed, as he kicked the fellow down the front steps, “
JUST IN CASE YOU WERE UNAWARE
!”

“Father, you needn't get entangled in another law case so soon,” said Gilbert, as he hastened to dust off the esquire sent from Madame's former relatives and to make apologies to him.

“
NONSENSE
!” shouted Sir Hubert down the stairs after him, “just look how well the LAST one came out! Why, they didn't even dare face us in open court!”

“Hugo, where did you put that ale cup?” said Gilbert, looking quite pale around the mouth.

“Finished it up myself, brother. Oh, Margaret, there you are. How did you know we'd want replenishment? Give it all to Gilbert. His need is greatest.”

But after that, all annoyances rolled off the Lord of Brokesford's back just as if it were greased, and he strode about with his eyes fixed on vast distances, with a tuneless little sort of a humming on his breath, the way he always did when he was planning great mischief. “I don't like it,” said Gilbert as we sat up in bed that night, with the bodies of dozens of guests crammed into the solar, all snoring and wheezing and breathing. “The last time he was like this, he charged a French position single-handed.”

“My lord husband, this time take my advice. The minute the nuptial knot is tied, we speed from here more swiftly than an arrow's flight.”

“Consider it taken. We'll get everything packed the night before.”

“It's not as if we're abandoning him. Madame will be in charge, though it may tax even her formidable powers.”

“Oh, I think not. I saw her qualities from the first. Why do you think I took such pains?”

“Gregory! Did I hear you right? Did you plan this whole thing as
matchmaking
?”

“Well, I didn't
plan.
With father, you can never plan. Let's say, I thought if I gave it the proper sort of push, that is, a meeting would be inevitable, given the way he's always moving in on us, well, you know. I thought it might improve him no end. And you must admit, Madame's credentials as mistress of Brokesford are absolutely impeccable.”

“More than impeccable. It was a stroke of genius,” I answered. After that, it was Gilbert who went around for the next few days with a humming sort of sound under his breath, and all filled with contentment and conceit about his cleverness.

When at last all the guests and friends and villagers and gawkers had gathered to see Sir Hubert give the ring before the church door, they were treated to yet another surprise. Sir Hubert announced in a loud, firm voice, that his gift to the bride was a lifetime interest in the village and lands of Hamsby, with all the rents and duties pertaining thereto. In the general buzz, Hugo nudged Gilbert.

“What does he mean, Hamsby for life? How does he expect me to live, for God's sake? On the remainder?”

“I hear he's sent south for some sort of especially hairy sheep she admires,” said Sir John.“Imagine, sheep at Hamsby. Sheep are suited only for knaves. Gentlemen have horses.”

“Oh, I don't know,” responded Sir William who had come with his wife and his son Phillip, who had been a squire, long ago, with Gilbert. “My Joan, here, has spinning women who make the finest wool in Derbyshire, and those sheep she talked me into getting are putting in a new gatehouse and paying for my second son's knighthood. You just have to keep them out of the good pastureland. They cut it up.”

“I say, when he wakes from this love-stupor and discovers his lands are covered with sheep, there'll be no holding him,” responded Sir John. “Ah, the church doors are open. Why, look at
that! A stained glass window! How ever did he manage?”The visiting knights looked astonished at the church's new grandeur. I looked at Gilbert, and Gilbert looked at me, and we were silent a long time. I thought from the very first that window was in the worst possible taste, considering what had gone on, and Gilbert thought so too, though he hadn't been able to talk him out of it. Christ vanquishing demons, presented in honor of his marriage. Why not a lovely virgin, or a Christ in glory, or maybe an archangel Michael? Oh, no, demons it was, all pouring out of a woman's mouth and flying away on leathery little wings. Gilbert's father said it was appropriate.

“My goodness, Christ vanquishing demons. Yes, I remember, this was the church of the miracles. I wonder if I offer a candle here, the saint will vanquish those mice in my storage barns.” Overhearing the visitors, I suddenly understood all.

“Gilbert,” I whispered, “he chose that awful window for the money.” Gilbert nodded silently toward the poor box.

“It's been full ever since—well, you know. The place has got a reputation.” I hadn't been in the village church since I had recovered from my illness, and I found it much changed. All the statues had been re-gilded, and there was a beautiful new rood screen, and even a little organ, wheezing and thumping, pumped by a sweating little boy while an old friar played tunes. Prosperity shone from it, and it looked good, all crowded with folk clad in their best. At the front, the wedding mass was being celebrated in great style, with beeswax candles of the finest, and incense that was supposed to come from the Holy Land, but probably was just brought in from King's Lynn.

“Quick, Margaret, think of something annoying. Accounts. How much the wine will cost.”

“Whatever for? Look, they are elevating the host.”

“Margaret, you're doing it again.”And sure enough, I realized the room was looking pinkish orange, and Alison was pulling on my sleeve, and Cecily was looking away at the vaulted roof, all embarrassed. What a funny sound it was that I thought I heard then, as I
looked down at my hands to see that the light had come back. It was the sound of sunlight on water, of the shining bubbles that dance by the stones in the brook. There in the crowded nave beneath the hammer-beams and the scandalous new window, with the smoke of candles and incense rising toward heaven, I swore I could hear the soft echo of the water woman's laughter.